


A Name Etched Into Hearts

by douxii



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Angst, Bad Ending, Character Death, Gen, This was rushed, Vague, and for a school assignment, i guess, literally none of it makes sense, so don't expect much, unclear ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-04
Updated: 2018-10-04
Packaged: 2019-07-25 00:14:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16186103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/douxii/pseuds/douxii
Summary: Nakamoto Yuta, a cemetery groundskeeper, meets a mysterious plague doctor during one of his shifts.





	A Name Etched Into Hearts

**Author's Note:**

> this was for a school assignment that i rushed to finish (because it was going to be late) so this is absolutely AWFUL. i really liked the original idea and i wanted to do more with it but i didn't have the time to so y'all gettin this Shit.

A musty Tuesday night, October 4th, 1877. Just another night, just another graveyard shift. Twenty four year-old Nakamoto Yuta deemed his job quite repetitive, but he really wouldn’t trade it for the world. He wasn’t doing it for the money, why would he, it’s not like the pay is very nice, but he genuinely enjoyed his job. Despite this, working late nights at the cemetery wasn’t necessarily something Yuta looked _forward_ to each night, but he most definitely didn’t dread it. A lot of the town knew him by name, others called him ‘the body sweeper.’ He ignores them, pessimistic old folk they are.

Tonight, just another night, that is, until it isn’t.

Yuta sees, out of the corner of his eye, a man. Quite a peculiar man, he concludes. He was hunched over, as if spectating the gravestone he stood in front of. The man was dawned in a dusty, old trench coat, the poor material looking like it hasn’t seen a wash in ages, and a wide-brimmed hat, so large it looked like it could swallow the man whole. Yuta’s sight was only available to the back of the man, leaving the face unknown.

Yuta trips forward when the shovel we was leaning on gives way to his weight. The shovel hits the ground, Yuta falling with it, them both making a dull, but loud sound. This catches the attention of the ominous man, him turning his head out of reflex to see the commotion. Yuta’s eyes widen just the tiniest bit.

A mask was laid upon his face. But not just any mask, the mask of the ill, as the town folk call it. A mask that could and would strike fear into any passerby. A plague doctor mask.

This doesn’t faze Yuta and his small moment of shock quickly dissipates. He stands up, uselessly wipes off any remaining debris on his already dirty trousers, and picks up his shovel before sauntering away to the supply shack located just behind the cemetery’s chapel.

Once returned to the doorway of the small shack, he strains his eyes and neck in attempt to see the man, but he is nowhere to be found. Yuta carries on with his night.

* * *

Another Tuesday night, a pall of fog laid over the dead grass and the gravestones accompanying it. Yuta is brought back to the man, the plague doctor, he saw just a week ago. He wonders if he would see the man once more.

And that he does. The same familiar trench coat and wide-brimmed hat appear again. This time he was stood in front a different gravestone than the week before. This intrigues Yuta, wondering why anyone, a plague doctor at the least, would have the need to visit two unrelated gravestones.

This night, Yuta goes unnoticed to the doctor.

* * *

The doctor continues to make an appearance every Tuesday at the same occurring time with no signs of stopping anytime soon. Each night, a different gravestone is visited. Yuta has seen the doctor leaving nothing for any of the graves, only bringing his presence. Yuta has also remained unnoticed to the plague doctor each week, him only curiously spectating from the shadows.

This night, Yuta decides he would talk to the plague doctor. A preposterous thought indeed, but he was unbothered.

Yuta watches the grandfather clock inside the chapel until the clock strikes 1, the same time the plague doctor would come every night. He looks outside the double doored entrance and sure enough, there the doctor was. He waits a moment, hesitation striking him. It takes some internal convincing, but he finally gathers the courage to acknowledge him, curiosity taking the best of him.

As soon as he reached the man, the doctor turned to look at him, just as if the doctor knew of his presence before Yuta himself did.

Yuta steps back a bit. The mask was indeed terrifying, much more so up close and in person rather than bypassing a plague doctor on the streets or the ones he’d seen in photographs. The long beak made him look ready to attack at any moment, as if he were a woodpecker and Yuta the wood.

“May I be of assistance?” The muffled voice of the doctor was patient and gentle, no trace of annoyance or rudeness to be found. Perhaps it was instinct to use this tone of voice when speaking with townspeople and patients alike.

“Um, no, I just…” Now that Yuta thinks about it, he hadn’t really given the conversation he would be having with the doctor much thought.

“No?” The plague doctor stood, waiting. The glass eyes of the mask bore into Yuta’s own, he felt like he was about to have his soul possessed.

“I am… Intrigued. You appear every Tuesday at this time. Why?”

“I believe that information does not concern you. Go on, leave me be.” The plague doctor practically shooed him away. Yuta obliged, almost feeling a force pulling him away from the presence of the doctor.

His plan of retrieving information failed, but Yuta would not give up.

* * *

This routine continued each week. Every time, Yuta would be a little more desperate and the doctor would be no less patient.

The doctor was beginning to sense that this kid would not be giving up anytime soon. He knew he would have to give in at some point so he could carry on with his duties stress free. The constant pestering of the cemetery boy made him feel just a tiny bit worse every time he denied him an explanation.

“Please?”

“… Just this once.”

* * *

“I assure you ma’am, your son will be alright.” Sicheng says this with little confidence in his voice, but the lady seemed gullible enough to believe his words. A pang of guilt hit his heart knowing the true outcome of what was to happen. For the outcome was all the same for each and every one of his patients.

* * *

“Why must you always visit with your mask on? I would believe that it is not required to be worn when off duty.”

“If only you knew, boy. I wish I could be rid of this retched thing.” The doctor avoided the prying eyes laid upon him, despite Yuta’s lack of being able to see the eyes beyond the mask.

“Do you not like your job, Dr. Dong?”

“That’s one way to put it.”

* * *

Another call answered, another patient laid to rest. Dong Sicheng hated these moments most. It was his job, however, and he couldn’t exactly decline a call to cure the ill, whether or not they would make it out alive.

As the days went on, he began to feel the dread of each passing day dissipate. He no longer wished to end it all and live a life most desirable in the heavens above. The emotional and physical pain of it all began to weld together to create a new twisted version of pleasure. And he wasn’t fighting it.

 _Anything to end the suffering,_ he thought, _anything._

* * *

It was another Tuesday night. Yuta awaited Sicheng at the chapel just as he did every week. It’d become a new routine for them. Sicheng would appear at the usual time, now meeting Yuta at the chapel. Sicheng would bring Yuta to the grave in which he would be visiting that night, and they would converse about they’re week.

Yuta makes a comment about how Sicheng tends to visit the freshly dug graves one night.

Yuta sees Sicheng walking in the distance, the light from the lampposts shining just enough light, catching on the end of the beak and reflecting onto Yuta’s eyes.

Yuta stands, watching and waiting. But Sicheng does not greet him, nor does he stop by the chapel. He walks right past him, as if Yuta were an unvalued statue, not worth a single glance.

Instead, Sicheng walks straight to the grave of that night, reminiscent to how it used to be many months before when he first appeared. Yuta follows.

“Sicheng?” No response.

Yuta calls out to him again, louder this time, but still, nothing.

He tries a few more times, but is cut off on his final attempt. Yuta is lunged at by Sicheng, knife in hand. Yuta panics, fearing for his life.

Too busy focusing on self-defense, he grabs the knife from Sicheng’s hand when he stumbles past him, and strikes him in the chest without thought. Sicheng falls to the ground. He makes no sound as a faint red tint from the blood bleeds through his coat. An instant death from a strike to the heart.

Yuta’s hands shake and the weapon is released from his grasp. His knees buckle from underneath him, his eyes focused on the shell of a body who was once a man in front of him.

He reaches out to the mask, and to his surprise, it budges. He removes the mask, and stares at the face that had been underneath it the entire time. He burns the face into his brain, not wanting to forget the kind man he’d once been friends with.

He moves to look at the mask in his hands. Respect for Sicheng fills his heart. Yuta places the mask that was once laid upon someone else’s face on his. He stands up and walks

 

**Author's Note:**

> y'all confused? good :^)
> 
> hmu @trcpalnght on twitter uwu


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